


we rise

by VesperNexus



Series: that boy is mine [6]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23595214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VesperNexus/pseuds/VesperNexus
Summary: “Not such a loudmouth now that you’re someone’s sloppy seconds, huh Hamilton?”Or, Laurens puts Lee in his place, and Hamilton smiles again.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton/George Washington
Series: that boy is mine [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677175
Comments: 9
Kudos: 70





	we rise

**Author's Note:**

> So this happened at in the two hours before bedtime because I needed some fluff

There’s a chill in the air. It’s a delicate gust that ruffles the autumn leaves, sifting through the brilliant mosaic of rust and auburn. It struggles to cut through the veneer of heat keeping the grass dry and yellow, but Hamilton shivers nonetheless.

He clasps his fingers around his elbows, draws them close to his chest. The heavy coat does little to settle the ever-present nip under his skin, festering between his joints like an improbable itch. He tries to blink some moisture back into his dry eyes, ducks his head and quickens his stride.

“Well if it isn’t the General’s pet!” 

A sigh is pulled from his throat quickly, without his volition. Hamilton lifts his chin, not bothering to mask the utter distaste on his face. Lee’s stood in his way, sneer pulling down joyfully on his mouth, arms crossed over his chest like he’s got nowhere to be on a busy midweek midday. Irritation sinks to the pits of Hamilton’s stomach quick as a pebble in a stream.

“Don’t you have new recruits to terrorise Lee?” The other man smiles wide and _knowing_ , the veins in his neck pulsing green and vivid with the strain. His eyes are cold and resolute in their darkness, and Hamilton swiftly swats away the unease slipping around his neck like a noose. The smile feels too familiar, the dogged glare feels too familiar, the –

 _Breathe._ He mentally brawls with the urge to step back, hunch his shoulders and slink into the shadows. Lee who has always been so small and trifling in personality, so blank and uninteresting, towers _feet_ above him. Hamilton knows, _knows_ , there’s little height difference between them. Lee is a pest. That’s all. Logically he knows this. Logically he knows a lot of things.

But he only sees the way Lee fills out his coat with broad shoulders and burly strength, compensating for what he lacks in intellect.

 _He can still overpower me, if he wanted, he could. He could._ When Lee takes a step forward Hamilton takes a step back.

“Aww, don’t be afraid Hammie!” _Breathe._ Soldiers mill about a few yards away, so close, so aware. _You can’t hurt me. You can’t hurt me. You can’t –_ “You scared little Ham? _Aww_.” He coos, and Hamilton feels the blood rush angrily to his cheeks painting them with red smudges. For the briefest second the breeze feels like a warm breath at the back of his neck, the long blade of grass tickling his socks manacles. For the briefest second. And then he squares his shoulders because _fuck that._

“Back off Lee. I’m not in the mood to babysit today.” It’s not his best, but he holds his chin up high and prays his legs will yield to him. The beat of his heart is so loud in his heart the conversations milling about and orders yelled over heads become stringently muted. _Breathe._ He shoulders past Lee.

And then there’s a firm, immovable hand shackling his elbow. Lee _looms_ , and he’s too close and _Providence._

“Let go.”

He hopes it’s stronger than it sounds. Lee just snorts.

“Why so hurried, my dear Ham?”

“Don’t call me that.” His order slips like pieces of shrapnel, jagged and dangerous. Lee blinks, and Hamilton can see something unsettle in his eyes. But he only steps closer, until Hamilton feels the overbearing warmth of his body press against his own. He opens his mouth, but his breath is yanked viciously from his lungs and he focuses on getting it back, focuses on pushing away the spluttering dark vignette growing around his vision. He barely hears the words Lee whispers into the shell of his ear.

“Are you upset the General doesn’t want used goods?”

 _Oh. He knows. Lee knows. How does Lee know?_ Hamilton’s shaking. Oh _God_ , he jerks his arm away futilely. Lee must feel every tremor running through his arm, hear the rioting beat threatening to burst from his chest. The other man moves a little closer, his lips pressed harder into Hamilton’s ear, rough and filthy, smearing an ugly laugh on his skin and it’s so _familiar_ and _he can’t – he can’t – he –_

“Not such a loudmouth now that you’re someone’s sloppy seconds, huh Hamilton?”

_Oh._

Hamilton closes his eyes, forces them shut before they fill with tears and Lee –

Lee is yanked back and the breath rushes hard into Hamilton’s body. He opens his eyes quick enough to see the other man crumble in a heap at his feet.

Hamilton looks at Lee for a good long moment. Laurens stands over him, clenching and unclenching his fist.

*

Laurens guides Hamilton away into a quiet clearing that stretches for miles. His friend is quiet in his arms, breaths ever so slowly steadying. He doesn’t do much but press Hamilton’s head into his chest, securely tucked under his chin. He slides one arm across Hamilton’s narrow back and threads the other into his ponytail, toying with the queue.

It might have been ten minutes or thirty before Hamilton lifts his head. His hands are twisted in Laurens’ coat and his eyes are rimmed red around the edges, but there’s a silly smile on his face that pushes creases around his eyes and makes him look years younger. Laurens’ aches with how much he’s missed that smile.

“Thank you, dear Laurens.” He grins back, not letting go as he slides them into the grass. Hamilton entwines their fingers, looking desperately sheepish. “I don’t know what came over me, I just…”

Laurens can’t bear to see the veneer of shame slipping like a cloak over Hamilton’s face. “Alexander, please. I should have broken his face, not his nose.”

Hamilton snorts, and it’s so childish it almost feels normal. _They_ almost feel normal. “I fear I was too optimistic. I hoped no one would…” He clears his throat, diverts his gaze. Laurens pulls him closer. “Tell me they’re just rumours John. Tell me they don’t know.”

His voice is so small when he asks, and Laurens can hear his own heart splintering. “Rumours, Alexander. To tear you down, that’s all. Schoolyard rumours by bullies and tyrants. Hey.” He curls his hands into Hamilton’s shoulders, twists him so they face each other. Laurens holds his gaze hard. “You have _nothing_ to be ashamed of. _Nothing._ ”

His friend nods in jerky movements. “I know. I know it is illogical. _I know._ I just…” Hamilton looks away, but his hand still grasps Laurens’. “I dream about it. Often. Often and at length.”

Laurens glares at little white flower blooming through the grass somewhere to his left. Nervousness bubbles in his belly, turns between his insides like reheated stew, gluggy and unpleasant. This is the first time Hamilton has brought _it_ up of his own volition and Laurens is afraid to use the wrong words. Afraid he will stumble over himself and exacerbate the unyielding ache that has been weighed down Hamilton ever since.

So he swallows all the empty reassurances and platitudes, and gently strokes his thumb along the scarred skin of Hamilton’s wrist. His hand trembles in Laurens’ grip.

“I close my eyes in my bed with-” he stutters over the words. Laurens wonders if he would have said _with George, with Washington, with my General,_ or some familiar variation of the three. For the first time in his life, Laurens holds his tongue. “I close my eyes in bed and I’m that room. The light is swept from every corner. I press my cheek against the floor and bite my tongue until I taste blood. I press my palms down and scrape my nails against the concrete until they are wet and jagged. There’s breath at the back of my neck, and his hands-” His stutters. Hamilton’s eyes are wet, and his bruising grip on Laurens’ hands is steadfast.

“Alex…”

“He’s so heavy I can’t breathe. There’s a boulder on my chest and it splinters my ribs into jagged pieces until my heart is punctured with bone and bile spills, thick and sticky around my belly and his laughter is bouncing around in my head and he’s smiling into my mouth and I can _taste_ him and I _do_ taste him and I feel sick, so sick I can’t move. I can’t move.” He inhales, quick and shaky. Laurens wants to beg him to stop. “And then it’s over, and I still feel him. Like a sticky veneer I can’t clean off my skin no matter how hard I scrub, no matter how scalding the bath.”

Laurens struggles to push the bile back down his throat. He doesn’t know how to respond. He wishes he could say _anything_ else. “I don’t know how to help you.”

His friend shakes his head. “You already are, John.”

“I failed you.”

“ _No._ ” Hamilton fists his hands into his coat. “You came for me Laurens. _You came for me._ ” And _oh –_ that blinding spark ignites in his eyes again and it’s the most wonderful sight Laurens’ has ever seen. “I wake up in my own bed because of _you,_ you and Lafayette. I’m here because you came for me.”

“I’m sorry.” Laurens draws his friend back slowly, down, down, down until they’re lying shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip on the grass. It feels like hay under his head. “I’m sorry about what I said to you. I’m sorry about how I reacted to you and-”

“It’s a lot to take in.”

“I know but I…” He takes a deep breath. Laurens will get it right the second time. “I’m scared Alexander. You may be the most brilliant man I know but when it comes to the people you love you are so unashamedly reckless. You burn fast and hard and I’m scared-” _I’m scared you’ll burn out, I’m scared Washington will ignite so blindingly he snuffs you out._

“I know. I could have handled it better. I’m afraid I have little experience in matters of the heart my dear Laurens.”

 _Matters of the heart._ Laurens wonders when it will stop hurting, hearing Hamilton confess his adoration for Washington so candidly. He wonders if the ache will numb with the years, or if Hamilton’s forthrightness will always feel like pushing a closed fist against a yellowing bruise. Wonders if the stutter in his chest will ever smooth into a steady beat. It doesn’t matter.

“I can’t…” He swallows. “Alexander I must confess I do not think I will ever comprehend your affections towards the General.” His friend shifts, and Laurens continues quickly, “But you must understand I am resolute in my loyalty to you. Unswerving in our friendship.”

When he tilts his head to the side, Hamilton is already looking to him. Sunlight bounces off his eyes, casting a mirror like veneer. Laurens swears he can see his own heart bared with unbridled abandon in his friend’s eyes. He has lost years in those eyes, and he is sure to lose years more.

Hamilton smiles, a quiet little smile that vanishes quick as it had graced his face, “My heart may be with the general, my dear Laurens, but my soul is with _you_.”

Laurens doesn’t cry. Laurens _almost_ does not cry.


End file.
